


rooted in the past

by clarakent (niewanyin)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Extended Universe, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Bruce Wayne, Alpha Dick Grayson, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Clark Kent, Omega Tim Drake, Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Clark Kent, Protective Dick Grayson, mentions of non-con clark/omc & clark/sam lane & tim/omc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:08:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21618892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niewanyin/pseuds/clarakent
Summary: Events lead Clark to realizing that the person who hurt him as a teenager is now hurting Tim.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Clark Kent
Comments: 48
Kudos: 295
Collections: Iddy Iddy Bang Bang! 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [salazarastark (niewanyin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/niewanyin/pseuds/salazarastark) in the [iibb2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/iibb2019) collection. 



> This is loosely in the DCEU, set around the time of BvS, but Clark never died or came close to it, and the other members of the Justice League are in contact with each other. This will be expanded upon in further chapters.
> 
> Need to thank Leo_Our_Q and Myosotis for their help in betaing!
> 
> I wish there was something better to name Jon Kent as other than Jonathan _Samuel_ Kent, but . . . I did want to keep the Lane connection and I don't like Sam Lane in most of what I've seen him in. He does have a different middle name here!

Clark can’t stop fidgeting in his seat as Mr. Andrews grades papers. Nervous energy threads through every muscle in his body as his mouth grows dry and his heart sinks lower and lower into his stomach. He doesn’t know what his English teacher wants with him, and he doesn’t want to be here. Mr. Andrews gives Clark a bad feeling, always brushing against him in class and paying too close attention to him.

Finally, Clark has to break the silence. “Mr. Andrews? Why did you ask me to stay after class?”

His teacher doesn’t say anything until he finishes the paper he’s grading. He puts down his pen, and sighs deeply, turning to look at Clark, a disappointed look on his face.

“I must say, Clark. I never pinned you for one of _those_ omegas,” he says, honest sadness coloring his voice. “You always seemed like such a good boy.”

Clark blinks. This isn’t what he’s expecting, and he doesn’t like where this is going either. “What do you mean one of ‘those’ omegas?”

“I mean,” Mr. Andrews drawls, “one of those omegas who goes out smelling like you do. Please, child. Do not tell me that you are unaware of how exactly you smell right now.”

He can’t believe what he’s hearing. Smell, he doesn’t smell, he just started his heat a little earlier than normal, in the middle of the day, and he doesn’t have any of his pills with him that’ll reduce the symptoms. But he feels fine enough, he can make it through the rest of the day. He doesn’t want to miss more days that he already has to, and he only had two periods left when it hit.

He opens his mouth to inform Mr. Andrews of all of it, but the teacher moves before he can get a single word out. The only word that Clark can think to use to describe him is _stalk_ . He moves around the desk to stand behind him, placing his hands on Clark’s shoulders and he _freezes_ , a knot of fear appearing in his throat.

“What are you doing?” he forces out past his dry throat.

“I know why you did it, Clark,” Mr. Andrews whispers in a voice that Clark feels is suppose to be soothing, but is anything but. “You wanted to get my attention. I’m glad to see it. I’ve been admiring you as well, but this is not something that you can do in class, sweetheart.”

_Sweetheart?_

“Stand up,” Mr. Andrews commands, and God forgive, but Clark stands up on shaky legs. Mr. Andrews is tall, a couple inches on Clark. Clark has never been more aware of that as Mr. Andrews presses against him, and then turns him around, pushing him towards the classroom desks. Clark only has a chance to gather one breath, mind racing, before he’s bent over a desk and his pants are being pulled down.

His fingers curl into the edge of the desk, desperately trying to figure out what he should do right now. He should fight back, right? That’s what anyone in this situation would do. But Clark’s legs feel like lead for the first time in his life, and all he can hear in his head is his father telling him to _never_ share his secret, under any circumstances. Clark doesn’t know if he would be able to hold back if he manages to make himself move.

Cold air is hitting his thighs as he feels slick starting to escape his body, and he squeezes his eyes shut. He just needs to take a deep breath and get through this.

He _can_ get through this.

He repeats to himself as Mr. Andrews lines up behind him and slowly pushes in, Clark biting his lip to keep from crying as he feels the burning pain of a foreign object being forced into his body for the first time in his life.

It hurts.

It hurts so incredibly much. Clark doesn’t know how other humans can get through life feeling pain like this everyday of their lives. His thighs are shaking and it’s all he can not to burst into sobs as Mr. Andrews thrusts in and out. Tears are streaming down his face, but he doesn’t want to make any noise that will alert anyone else still in school. He just wants to make it through this, and then go home and take a shower. Then he’s going to sleep. Then he’s going to wake up and pretend this never happened while making sure that he’s never alone with Mr. Andrews again.

He can do that.

As soon as this is over.

*

_Thirteen years later_

Clark wakes up, heart thumping loudly and his throat burning as tears begin to well in his eyes because of the phantom pain of Mr. Andrews inside him. He’s holding a pillow tightly, his body curling in on itself as he tries to protect himself from the memory even all these years later.

He bites his tongue to keep the screams and sobs from bursting out of his throat, not willing to risk waking the neighbors. He doesn’t know why the memories of it are coming back.

(He knows exactly why.)

Clark stares at the wall, the image blurry as he thinks about everything he can do. All the power he has at his disposal.

How much he has to hold back because he can’t bear to do anything that could hurt anyone.

Clark presses his face into the pillow, allowing the tears to fall as he cries out all his grief and misery.

Twice in his life he’s been bent over a desk and forced to take an alpha’s cock, thanks to heats that remove his powers and more, leave him weaker and more docile than a kitten. They didn’t use to do that, but after Mr. Andrews . . . Clark has always been left powerless during a heat.

He can't take suppressants, they don't work on his biology. The heat-reducing pills do, but the ones that will actually _stop_ it are for some reason impossible to handle. Which means that he can't do anything to stop it whenever someone decides to take something that isn't theirs.

And he can't get the test out of his mind, the one in the bathroom that has a plus sign on it.

The one that confirms that he's pregnant with the child of General Sam Lane.

The thought forces its way into his mind, and before it can leave, he's up and running towards the bathroom, nausea creeping along his throat and he barely make it to the bathroom in time.

He squeezes his eyes shut, but all that does is brings up the images of Mr. Andrews. General Lane. Their faces blurring together and becoming one man, one rapist. Clark hates himself for it, but he hates them. He hates them so much for doing this to him, for hurting him. Even after he stops throwing up and flushes the toilet, he can't stand up. He can't force himself to move, not when moving hurts.

He can't stand in front of Lois, knowing that he's pregnant with her half-sibling.

He doesn't know if he can get an abortion.

He doesn't know if he wants one.

All he knows is that he wants to close his eyes and sleep forever, or at least until he doesn't want to cry, he doesn't want to throw up, until his stomach is no longer solid ice.

He wants to look up Mr. Andrews. He wants to ask him why he did it. What right did he think he had to do that to Clark? He had no right whatsoever, and Clark wants to hear him say that.

He knows that he's never going to.

He knows that he won't be able to look up Mr. Andrews.

Clark curls up on the bathroom floor, falling into a fitful sleep.

*

_Three years after that_

Clark wakes up to a small body crawling in next to him, and he instantly tightens his grip on his son. Jon is a sweet boy who loves morning cuddles, and Clark loves indulging him.

"Hey, baby," he whispers. "How are you?"

Jon giggles. "Snuggling!"

Clark smiles without opening his eyes. God, he loves his child.

 _His_ child.

He had thought about telling Lois the truth. About telling anyone the truth. But he had realized it wouldn't do any good. Lois would believe him, but it would tear her family apart and General Lane would certainly face no repercussions for raping Clark.

It doesn't really matter at the end of the day.

Clark has his baby boy, and that's all that matters. The darkness of his past can't touch Jon.

Jon nuzzles against Clark's neck, and he breathes in the sweet toddler scent. "What do you feel like doing today, baby?"

Jon shrugs, preferring to stay in Clark's arms.

Clark sighs. "How about we watch movies while Mama works?" It’s work that will allow Clark to stay in bed all day, something he needs because he feels his heat creeping up. It’ll start soon, and then it’ll be the usual song and dance of making sure that Jon is fed and taken care of and not realizing the state that Clark is in.

Jon nods, and Clark is so glad that he has such an accommodating child.

He rolls out of bed and grabs the movies and his laptop. A nice day of relaxation before his heat hits in full force, and hopefully it’ll stop it from being bad. It’s Saturday, so he doesn’t have to worry about calling in. He can just let himself enjoy the son next to him, the sound of Disney, and the hard-hitting investigation into . . . Bruce Wayne.

It’s something that Clark is almost certain that the man did to mock him. Get Clark Kent to do his profile, have a smirk as Clark goes crazy with never mentioning Batman and painting a picture of Bruce Wayne that he _knows_ is untrue, which stands against everything he believes in as a journalist.

The man’s an asshole like that.

Clark rubs his forehead as he feels a headache coming on.

Jon just shuffles as he starts to get comfy. “Hey,” Clark says. “Teeth and new pajamas, okay? And something for breakfast.”

Jon sighs as he forces himself to move to obey his father. “You’re mean.”

Clark laughs. “I know, baby. I’m a big, old meanie.”

It only takes a few minutes for them both to get ready for a day of lying in bed, Jon pressing himself against Clark’s side, eating his orange for breakfast as he becomes absorbed into _Mulan_ while Clark pulls up his research.

It’s actually supposed to be the most in-depth profile on Bruce Wayne, so Clark will admit it makes some sense for him to be the journalist that interviews him. Anyone else could stumble onto Batman, but Clark will know to give it a wide breadth. 

He has research up on not only Bruce Wayne, but also Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, and Tim Drake. Actually, Tim Wayne. He’s the only one of Bruce’s sons that changed his name when Bruce adopted him. Clark can tell there’s a story there, but not one that he thinks affects this profile.

Even if it did, Clark doesn’t think it’s something for him to know.

He’s done the basic research on Dick and Jason, at least to talk about them in reference, but he still needs to do a tad more on Tim. Literally just look up his school and write up a short little blurb on it, easy as pie, maybe write down a few questions to ask Bruce about it, make the school very happy because he can already tell it’s a ritzy Gotham private school just from the website.

He clicks on the faculty list, skimming it just to see if there’s anyone that stands out that he could mention.

That’s when he sees _him_.

Mr. Andrews’s picture smiles out at him. He’s older, of course he is, it’s been sixteen years. But he looks decent for a man that . . . in truth, probably isn’t even ten years older than Clark.

Clark can feel the world growing black, and pushes the laptop away. He grabs Jon and pulls him close, holding his son in his arms and burying his face in his hair. Jon makes a noise of question, but let's Clark hug him all the same. It’s not the first time that he’s helped him through a panic attack, and Clark just worries about the day that Jon realizes that most mothers don’t do this.

Most mothers aren’t reduced to panicked messes the minute they see something that makes them remember a bad period in his life. Clark shouldn’t be sobbing just because of a picture. He doesn’t even do this with General Lane.

(Because he had to push those feelings down whenever he sees one on Lois’s desk.)

(And Mr. Andrews was . . . was worse. He broke a trust in Clark that just wasn’t there with the General.)

Jon clings to him as Clark holds him close, terrible thoughts running through his mind. Mr. Andrews teaches at Tim Wayne’s school. Tim Wayne is an omega with black hair and blue eyes. Clark prays that he’s wrong with how his stomach sinks and his eyes water, but he can’t stop himself from thinking about the fact that he might, just might, be raping Tim Wayne like he raped Clark.

It had never happened beyond the once, but as Clark thinks about it now, he was certainly just Mr. Andrews’s first victim. It was his first year of teaching, he might not have wanted to push him to far because Clark hadn’t dared report it.

And if he had. . . .

Clark is just as responsible for Mr. Andrew’s future rapes as the man himself is.

If Clark had just spoken out. . . .

But maybe Clark is wrong. Maybe he’s just jumping to the worst conclusion. He absolutely needs to do some research on this.

*

On Tuesday, after he’s made sure that his heat has ended, Clark walks into the school, adrenaline coursing through his body, taking complete control of him.

He feels like he's blinking and then he's somewhere new in the school. He's asking for a visitor's pass, explaining that he's here for a story. Perhaps something worriedly, they only glance at his Daily Planet ID before they waved him in, so glad that they can possibly get some publicity for the school.

There's a very good chance that if Clark's suspicions are correct, either with Tim or another student entirely, they'll be getting more than they asked for.

Gotham Academy is very different than Smallville High, and for the first time, Clark wonders if Mr. Andrews was a good teacher. Clark had earned an A in his class, but he honestly doesn't know if he _earned_ it. Perhaps it was a hush grade or a reward or maybe it really was Mr. Andrews honestly feeling like he did good work. Clark doesn't know. The rest of the year was spent in a blur in that class, heart pounding every minute.

Clark just made sure he never went to school with a heat, never stayed a minute if one unexpectedly came. He worked his ass off to make up for the missed classes, still graduating as valedictorian despite everything.

It's one of the proudest moments of his life, and he remembers the rush he got when he walked onto that stage to give his speech and didn't see Mr. Andrews at all. He only taught 11th grade English, no reason for him to be there.

He was just so glad that he didn't have to avoid that man's gaze as he went through his speech.

Mr. Andrews is either a good enough teacher that he was able to move from a simple Midwestern public school to a posh East Coast private one, or he was able to shmooze good with people and end up in this place besides all evidence to the contrary.

He awakens from those memories when he ends up in front of a classroom, marked with a _Mr. Andrews_ on the front, and his heart is in his stomach. It's during the school's lunch period. There's no students around here. For the first time since his rape, he's going to be alone with this alpha.

He has to run to the bathroom and super-speed through a panic attack before he can actually put his hand on the doorknob.

When he does, it’s another minute of deep breathing before he opens it.

Mr. Andrews is still taller than him, but not as much. He looks up at Clark with a furrowed brow, obviously not sure how to place him. Clark isn't surprised. He's filled out and broadened since he's graduated high school, muscles in places that Clark didn't know could exist when he was a teenager. He looks in the mirror sometimes and sees a man that he doesn't recognize, a superman.

He doesn't look like the typical omega, hasn't for years, especially not after Jon. He hears what people say about trauma and wanting not to look so much like a victim. He tries hard not to listen. He also hears his mother's questions about if being Superman is the best thing he can be with a three year old in his life and him a single parent, and he doesn't know how to explain that it's the only way that he can feel at peace with himself. He makes sure he brings to Smallville on the nights that he’s Superman, but he doubts than anyone would ever think it was him. And after Zod destroyed Metropolis, his powers have been outed to the world. People want to know who he is, people want him to help.

People want him to embrace his powers and make sure that others aren't hurt in the same cruel way that he was hurt.

Mr. Andrews seems to decide that he has no idea who Clark is and that means that this is the first time they're meeting.

"Hello there," he says pleasantly, nothing like the monster that's haunted his dreams. "Can I help you?"

Clark isn't sure if he can speak. If he can make his mouth move and look at Mr. Andrews and tell him his name.

It has been sixteen years, why does he still use Mr. Andrews?

. . .What the hell _is_ his first name?

Clark forces himself to plaster on the fake smile that he uses when he's interview a person that he thinks is the scum of the earth. Mr. Andrews is worse than that, but the point still stands.

Clark can do this.

"Arthur Prince," he says, holding out his hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

Mr. Andrews smiles easily at him and Clark absolutely hates him right now. He hates him so fucking much. This monster can stand there and smile at a man that he raped years ago and not even dare to recognize him? There's a fire in his heart that's burning, burning with this rage and hurt and anger. Mr. Andrews grabs Clark's hand, firm and dry.

Clark remembers how wet his breath was on the back of his neck.

Clark's fake smile tries to twist, but he fights it. He makes himself stand there, because seeing this man, older and still unburdened with guilt, in another high school classroom, makes him realize that this man had to have done it again. Clark couldn't have been the last, and even if he wasn't the first, he had to have been one of them.

There's a boy in this school that Mr. Andrews is hurting, Clark knows it deep in his gut. It might be Tim Drake, it might not be, but Clark knows there's someone.

"Glad to meet you, Mr. Prince," he says. "I'm David Andrews."

David.

It's so ordinary. Of course he didn't have an obviously sinister name, but . . . he just didn't expect it to be something like _David_.

Clark forces himself to let Mr. Andrews (he actually _can't_ call him by his first name, he can't make him human) shake his hand a few times before he drops it like it's burning coal.

"What are you doing here, Mr. Prince?" the rapist asks as Clark's eyes dance across the room.

"Thinking of doing a piece on the school," Clark mutters. "Best private schools in the country, and Gotham Academy is in the running. And I always find English teachers the most interesting to talk to."

Mr. Andrews lets out a barking laugh, and Clark can't suppress his flinch. It still sounds the same, even after sixteen years. "Well, I'm glad you think that we have something interesting to say. Our students don't."

Clark can't bring himself to smile at that. All he can think about the fact that he often called Clark a shining star, the words echoing in his head. He forces himself to speak around the knot in his throat. "Are there any students here that you would call shining stars?"

Mr. Andrews smiles, a secret kind of smile that makes Clark sick to his stomach because he _knows_ that smile, he knows what it means. "There's a few I think have potential, but there's one in particular that stands out." Clark's stomach sinks. "You might actually recognize his name, his parents were well-known members of Gotham society and the international archaeological community. And now he’s been adopted by the richest man in Gotham." _Oh God no._ "Tim Wayne?"

*

Mr. Andrews actually takes him to Tim Wayne. He leads Clark down the long hallways until he gets to the lunchroom. He points to a boy that Clark recognizes from pictures and the few glimpses of Robin. He's sitting alone at all table, staring at his food and picking at it with his fork. It's a scene that Clark is all to familiar with it. He wasn't as pale as Tim, nor was he ever that short and slender once he hit puberty, but the sheer loneliness and hurt radiating from him is like a punch in the gut for Clark.

"There he is!" acting like Tim doesn't look absolutely miserable in this place, probably dreaming of the day that he's no longer in Mr. Andrews class. Clark wonders if Tim has managed to avoid Mr. Andrews as well as Clark did, or if this was something that's been forced to continue, if luck went against him.

Tim looks up to see them, flinching at the sound of Mr. Andrews's voice, and then frowning when he sees Clark. Mr. Andrews waves him over, and with hunched shoulders, Tim gets up and comes over. Clark's eyes move over into their X-Ray vision, wanting to check Tim's arms and legs for bruises, but he goes to far. He ends up seeing beneath the skin, beneath the bones and the muscles and into . . . and into the womb.

And Clark sees the small fetus curled up in it.

He doesn't know what happens next.

He blacks out.

***

Tim did not ever think that he would see Superman at his school. Or Clark Kent, more like it. The man is in his civilian clothes, talking next to Mr. Andrews. Tim wants to tell him to get away, that Mr. Andrews is the worst man in the world, worse than even the Joker Tim thinks. His throat tightens when his teacher calls him over. Why does Mr. Andrews want him? Why is he next to Clark Kent? Tim isn't sure that he's a good enough actor that he can pretend that he's okay with Mr. Andrews and that he's never met Clark Kent in his life.

And then Superman, a man that is all powerful and can smash anything that stands in his way with his fists, turns pale as can be and faints.

He actually _faints_ and before Tim can even think, he's running towards him. He shrugs off his school jacket, moving it under Clark's head. He's really pale, and Mr. Andrews is bending down, placing a hand on Clark's shoulder. The smell of distressed omega is high in the air, and before Tim can even think about, he's snarling at Mr. Andrews. He can't let Mr. Andrews touch him, can't let him hurt him.

Mr. Andrews looks at him sharply, and Tim can't help but shrink back. His gut fills with fear, and Tim can't help but feel nausea creep up in his throat. He always wants to throw up these days.

"Mr. Wayne," his teacher says sternly. "There is no need to act like that to a man who wants to help someone."

Tim can feel his whole body shake in fear and anger. He doesn't want Mr. Andrews to touch Superman, but he's too much of a coward to actually say it. He's too much of a coward to say anything. His tears are stuck in his eyes, and he just curls in on himself. Mr. Andrews looks up and demands that someone gets the nurse. Tim just brushes the hair from Clark's forehead, and tries his best not to let the tears fall out of his eyes.

Mr. Andrews's hand curls around his shoulder, and Tim can't stop the whimper. "It's okay, Tim. It's going to be okay."

He wants to shake his head. He wants to shout and scream and tell him that no, it’s not going to be okay. Because this bastard is raping Tim and has been since Tim started seventh grade.

He liked Tim as a student, and taught sixth through twelfth grade in different years, different periods. It made sense for him to keep request the young omega as a student in his class every year. And Tim didn’t know how to form the words that would ensure that he would never set foot in another class taught by Mr. Andrews, that would make this man never teach again.

He just . . . he just didn’t want to disappoint Bruce. He didn’t know how to force the words out. 

_“My teacher is raping me.”_

Just thinking it makes Tim want to throw up. Actually saying the words?

He just focuses on Clark, trying not to look to scared. He lets the nurse come to them, lets her check Clark over.

Tim knows that Clark’s going to be fine. Already he’s starting to wake up. But Tim can’t stop worrying about what the hell could have caused _Superman_ to faint in his school cafeteria.

He slowly sits up, the nurse trying to get him to lay back down, but Clark shrugs her off. His face turns a deep red when he sees the crowd of people that are surrounding him, but his eyes still scan the crowd, looking for someone. Tim thinks it might be him. He touches Clark's shoulders gently, pulling Clark's attention onto him. There's something hurting in Clark's gaze, and Tim doesn't know what it is. He just slowly stands up, offering his hand to help Clark up. His entire body is shaking, but he takes it, and Tim slowly helps him stand up. Clark reaches for him, pulling him to his side, and Tim buries his face into the older omega's warm chest by accident. Or something perhaps that's more purposeful than accident, because he’s realizing now that there's nothing that compares to the smell of Clark Kent, which is sunflowers and strawberries and the winter sky.

Something in his heart aches, and tears prick in his eyes because he feels the gaze of Mr. Andrews on them. He can't see the man, but he's gotten enough of sixth sense on what the man's eyes feel like when they press upon him.

"Come on," Clark whispers. "Let's go."

There's school. Tim still has classes, it's only lunch.

One of those classes is English.

He nods jerkily, wanting to get out of this infernal school as fast as possible.

Clark turns the nurse. "I'm going to call someone to come pick me up. Would it be to much to wait in your office?"

Tim cuts in. "I'll help him there, don't worry." He plasters on a smile. "I'll take care of him."

Tim thinks that he would have collapsed himself at this point if he didn't have Clark's strong arm around him.

The nurse looks unsure, but nods. The cafeteria returns to its normal pace, but Clark and Tim still stumble out of it, both of them unsteady. The only one who's eyes stay on them the entire time is Mr. Andrews.

It takes them twenty minutes to get to the nurse's office when it usually takes Tim at most ten minutes to walk there. The nurse is following worriedly behind them, but Tim doesn't look back. He just focuses on getting one foot in front of the other as he puts more and more weight on Clark. By the end of the walk, he's pretty sure that the nurse is more worried about Tim than Clark.

He doesn't care. He's been so tired lately, and Clark is warm and comforting.

He slides into a chair as soon as he gets there, Clark sitting down next to him and pulling him close. "It’s okay not to be okay," Clark whispers, and Tim shakes his head.

He's not okay, and he doesn't know if he'll ever be okay, but he knows he just needs to get over it. Seeing Mr. Andrews right next to Clark Kent just reminded Tim of how _good_ some people are, and how dirty he is. How filthy and disgusting and nothing he is. He can't believe that Clark can stand to touch him, and before he knows it, he's breaking down, sobbing in Clark's strong arms and pulled into his lap. Clark is humming a soft tune into his hair, rubbing his side as Tim breaks down.

Clark's the one who fainted, and here Tim is having a mental break down. He's really pathetic, isn't he? He can't stop crying though, his tears soaking into Clark's shirt as he inhales the soothing scent of an older omega, a mother. He's never really known any older omegas. His parents acted like the world was ending when he presented, and like he would never have a happy future because of his dynamic.

Clark is proof against that.

He stays in the man's arms, sobbing until he runs out of tears, but Clark thankfully doesn't let him go. He just stays in his arms, being rocked like he's a much smaller child, until he hears Bruce's worried voice.

"What's going on here?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Myo and Leo for betaing this chapter as well!

Clark can only imagine what must be going through Bruce's mind as he stares at his youngest son being cradled by a journalist that as far as he knows, has no business being at this school. Bruce is looking between the two of them, his brow furrowing, and Clark can see his hands flexing. He wants to hold Tim, because Tim's drowsy and has tear-stains on his face, and Bruce is a parent. You can't resist holding your crying child and making sure that they're okay.

It pains Clark to just hand Tim over, but he knows that it's for the best, especially when he sees how Tim presses his face into Bruce's neck and seems to be falling right back to sleep. The alpha looks back at Clark, his worry clear in his eyes as he asks again, "What's going on here?"

What does Clark even say right now? There's no way that he can just blurt out the truth, but he failed so many people before by not daring to tell the truth about Mr. Andrews and his cruelty. He has to say something, but anything that he could say would lead Bruce to the right conclusion.

But he needs to know. He has the right to know what some monster is doing to his son, and he needs to know the role that Clark played in bringing it about.

"Bruce, we need to talk," he whispers, but Tim wasn't as asleep as he thought, because the boy jerks away from the sleep that he was almost in to slur out a "No!" and Clark doesn't even know what Tim thinks he's going to say, but he pushes past it. He hates it, he knows that Tim might never trust him again, but he can't keep this in. Bruce looks down at his son, frowning in confusion.

Clark continues on. "There's a teacher here. By the name of David Andrews. He-"

"Clark, don't-"

"When I was sixteen, he raped me when I was starting my heat."

He could have heard a pin drop in this room. Both Bruce and Tim are looking at him, their mouths hanging open in shock. Clark feels burning shame in his gut, but he perseveres. "I don't even remember how it happened. Before I knew it, he was fucking me over a desk, and I didn't know how to tell anyone. Not even my parents. And I wished I said something years ago, because if I had, I would have been able to save many young boys. But I was too much of a coward to say a word." He's breathing heavily after his confession. He waits for the insults, the recriminations, and Bruce and Tim both telling him what a horrible coward he is for not telling anyone.

Tim's soft voice stops all that. "Clark, he did it to you too?"

And somehow, the room manages to get even quieter as Bruce growls out, _"Too?"_

Tim's gaze turns from Clark to Bruce, the fear clear in his face, and Clark can hear his heartbeat picking up, his breath getting shorter. "Bruce, I'm sorry," he whispers, and Clark's heart breaks apart. He knows that he should have told his parents about what Mr. Andrews had done to him, and the reasons why he didn't are too many to really name. But he knows without a doubt that they never would have expected him to apologize for getting raped. The fact that Tim somehow thinks that he needs to is a terrifying glimpse into what his life must have been like under the thumb of his biological parents.

Bruce has never really talked much about the Drakes to Clark, but between this and the little he has said, Clark is not getting a very good picture of them. They don't seem to have given Tim any support, because Clark has done the math. This started before Bruce adopted Tim, before his parents died, before he became Robin, and therefore, before Bruce even met Tim at all. Which as heartbreaking as it is, it means that Bruce has only had his son since after he's been abused, and he's gotten used to a boy who out of sheer necessity, has gotten pretty damn good at lying.

Bruce's face is crumbling as well, and he sits down carefully in a chair, making sure that he doesn't hurt Tim and keeping his grip on him. "Tim," he whispers out brokenly. "What happened?"

Tim's face flits with fear, and Clark knows that he can't say the words. Clark can barely say them, and he's saying this years away from that awful afternoon, but Tim only has the now.

And he's had a lot more than just one awful afternoon.

"Bruce," Clark says softly. "I don't think this is the place. Tim's had an emotional day, I think it would be better if you talked about this after he's had a chance to sleep." Tim is nodding in agreement, getting ready to fall back asleep again, but before he fully goes, he mumbles out, "Clark fainted. Don't know why."

Bruce's head jerks up to him, but oh, this is a conversation that he can't have with Bruce. At least not until he's talked to Tim about it, and that's a conversation that needs to be put on hold until after Tim and Bruce have had their own.

He lies, smiling to soothe Tim. "It was just seeing that it was you, and realizing that standing next to Mr. Andrews wasn't an awful nightmare." Tim nods, accepting the answer in his sleepy state that he wouldn't if he were more aware of the world around him, but Bruce is looking at Clark cautiously, able to tell that there's something that he isn't telling him. Clark ignores it, taking advantage of Tim as his emotional shield to avoid having to answer anything that he doesn't want to.

He peeks at Tim's stomach, steeling himself so he doesn't faint again, and biting his lip to keep the sigh from escaping him when he sees the fetus inside the fucking child. He has no idea what Tim's going to do. When he kept Jon, he was in his late twenties and was able to support a child. Tim will have Bruce, so financially a child would be taken care of, but emotionally? Clark doubts that he could have kept a child that came from Mr. Andrews, at least not at sixteen.

But Clark isn't Tim. And the only thing that he can do is be there for him, just like he wished that someone could have been there for him, even though it was his own fault by never reaching out.

"I need to go," he tells Bruce, avoiding those strong and steady brown eyes. "I need to pick Jon up from the babysitter's. But I'll be over later tonight."

"Bring him with," Bruce states. "And bring a couple day's worth of clothes, and figure out something at the _Planet._ No, actually, I'll call the _Planet._ Tell them I want you to see me in my natural habitat, and we'll figure out the details later."

"Bruce-" Clark starts, unsure of how he's going to finish this, but Bruce interrupts him.

"Please," Bruce says, and if Clark didn't know better, he would think that it was almost pleading. "I don't know how to be there for him."

Clark looks at Bruce. He looks at the desperate father. Bruce is holding his son close to him, gripping him for all that he's worth. Tim's face is smoothed out, the worry no longer plain on it. Clark is sure that it still exists, but the biggest moment of Tim's life just happened.

Clark knows because it just happened to him.

There's a strange sense of relief in telling Bruce and Tim what happened to him. He has no idea what's going to happen now that they know, but his mind fills with thoughts about what his life would have been like if he had managed to tell his parents the truth when he was sixteen. He wonders what they would have done, and what they would have said. 

How they would have hugged him and told him that everything would have been okay.

He reaches over and squeezes Bruce's knee. "Bruce, you're here. Right now, that's enough."

The older man shakes his head as he looks down at the teenager in his arms. "If I was there for him, I would have seen how badly he was hurting. I would have been able to take care of him like he deserves." He takes in a shuddering breath. "Clark, I have failed Tim worse than I failed Jason."

"Bullshit," Clark states, determination lacing his voice. "Bruce, you didn't fail either of them. Life failed them, and it failed you, and terrible people hurt them and just because you were unable to stop it doesn't mean that you were able to control what happened in the first place." Bruce is still looking at Tim, and Clark can see how he still doesn't believe him, and he knows that he has to resort to drastic measures. "Bruce, look at me." He doesn't, and Clark bites back swears. "Bruce, look at me!" This time the man does, and he takes a deep breath. "Would you call my mother terrible for not seeing what happened to me?"

_Both times?_

Bruce's face fills with fear over the thought of calling Martha Kent a terrible mother, and it's answer enough for Clark. "Look, if you want to think that you failed Tim, fine. I can't stop you. But then you need to realize that everyone else failed him. Alfred. His biological parents. Dick. All the teachers at this school. Every adult that he crossed paths with." Clark waves his hand at Tim. "Bruce, people like Mr. Andrews are really good at telling who's in pain and afraid of telling the truth. And me and Tim? We are. I was in pain over my heritage, over how different I was than everyone else. And I couldn't tell the truth about it. I was too afraid to do anything that could reveal the truth about me. And he could tell that I was someone that he wasn't likely to tell." Clark looks at Tim in Bruce's arms. "And I was. He had me dead to rights. There's nothing I can do about that."

"And why did he go after Tim?" Bruce asks, his voice choked up. Clark rubs his knee. "Tim was a lonely kid with neglectful parents who wouldn't know who to tell since no one ever cared to listen to a thing he had to say ever since he could remember. He was even more of a target. And by the time he came into your life, this was already a part of his, and something he couldn't tell you without making himself the victim, not the Robin he needed to be for you."

Bruce's gaze turns back to his sleeping son. "He was so determined to help me," he whispers. "I never thought about asking him how he needed my help."

"He's a good kid," Clark tells him. "You should be proud."

He gives Bruce's knee one last rub, and then sets to leave Gotham as soon as he can to collect his things and Jon. He knows that he's going to help Bruce and Tim, no matter what. They need him, and Clark needs him. And he needs to research David Andrews, find all his past victims, bring up all his skeletons and send them crashing to ground.

*

Clark is glad that Jon is such an easy-going kid, that doesn't bat an eye over having an impromptu trip to Gotham happening. Granted, he _is_ three, but he could still be doing a lot worse. No, Jon is content to suck his thumb (a habit that Clark is trying desperately to break him off) as they walk up to the Manor, eyes wide as he takes in the sheer scope of the building, newly resorted to its former glory.

Clark had the same reaction the first time he saw it.

He only knocks once before the door flies open, a relieved and surprisingly harried Alfred Pennyworth looking at him.

"Thank God, you're here," the older man mutters. "Master Bruce told Dick the news, and he arrived just a little before you did."

Clark winces. He's met Nightwing. He's a kind man who cares deeply about the ones he loves, just like Bruce, and that has caused . . . friction. Because Dick Grayson is the man who isn't quiet when the ones he loves are threatened. And he adores his little brother, he once spent fifteen minutes showing Clark pictures of Tim and bragging about his achievements. He stretches his hearing, and he's immediately greeted with Bruce and Dick yelling in the study, both battling back tears.

He sighs, and walks through the door, heading straight towards the study. The voices get louder quickly, and Clark can pull his hearing back. He doesn't bother knocking because he knows they won't hear him.

Dick and Bruce are in each other's faces. Dick has a finger in Bruce's face, and his teeth are bared, a growl low in this throat. Bruce is holding his fists so tightly that his knuckles are white. Clark thinks they're only two minutes away from throwing punches. He clears his throat, and the alphas snap at him, growling low in both their throats, eyes narrowed before they see that it's Clark and Jon. Jon whimpers, burying his face into Clark's neck because Jon isn't used to male alphas, and the scent of them angry and arguing is scary.

As soon as they see this, Dick and Bruce immediately take deep breaths so they won't scare the child further.

"Clark," Dick whispers, taking a step towards him, but forcing himself to stop. He smiles bitterly, and he can see it in Dick's eyes. Bruce told him about Clark as well as Tim, and Dick's trying so hard to bite down on his reaction so he won't trigger Clark. He appreciates it. He also holds out his other arm, the one that doesn't have his son in it so Dick can step inside that space.

Dick's only a year younger than him and he's actually an inch taller, but Clark still feels a fresh of protective instincts as soon as he's in his arms. "I'm glad you're okay," the younger alpha whispers. "I'm so sorry."

Clark squeezes his eyes shut and hugs Dick back tightly. "Thank you." His voice chokes up, which he wasn't expecting. Dick just hugs him tighter. Jon is moving, clearly curious about this big man who smells differently than he's used to.

"Clark, your son is poking me in the face," Dick says, laughter in his voice. Clark can't help but chuckle, and he hears an amused huff come from Bruce. 

"Who are you?" Jon asks brightly, his fear now long forgotten.

Dick leans back and let's go of Clark to get a better look at Jon. His trusting son instantly holds out his arms to be picked up by the man that his mother trusts, and Dick spares a quick look at Clark. All he does is laugh and hold out his baby, who Dick eagerly takes. The baby just laughs and hits Dick's face again. He laughs, and settles Jon on his hip. 

"How's Tim?" Clark asks. "Would he want to see Jon?"

Dick's eyes light up at the idea. "Tim's been buried under blankets, but I think he would love Jon snuggles, right?" He tickles underneath Jon's chin, and Clark's baby lets out the most delighted laugh. "Yes, everyone needs Jon snuggles."

Clark claps his hand on Dick's back. "Then take him to Tim." He looks at Bruce. "I'll be there in a few minutes."

Dick nods. He walks out of the study, making faces for Jon to laugh at and clap his hands. Clark's heart feels full to the bursting when he sees them leave, and then he turns towards Bruce, who had been watching the two of them leave with the biggest smile on his face.

The smile that Bruce only has when he's looking at his children.

"What was the fight about?" Clark asks softly, not wanting to bring down Bruce's mood, but knowing that this is important. They can't just wait this time, especially if Bruce wants him around for Tim.

Bruce sighs. "We aren't sure who shares the biggest blame for what happened."

"No one's to blame except Mr. Andrews," Clark states dully. Bruce tilts his head. "Not even you believe that." He looks at his desk. "But you believe it for the wrong reasons. A traumatized child should not be expected to report someone that's harmed them because they will learn trauma can come from the most unexpected places. An adult who knows that child however, should realize that the child is acting out of the ordinary and they've been hurt. I didn't notice it with Tim, and neither did Dick. We both failed."

Clark wants to choke him. Did _anything_ he had said in the nurse's office get through to him?

"Bruce-"

He holds up a hand. "Listen to me. I understood what you were saying about your mother, and I don't think she's terrible. Furthest from it. But I do think she made a mistake by not seeing the natural changes that would occur in you." Bruce sighs. "Probably assuming the same thing I did with Tim. That what she was seeing was a regular teenager mood swing, not daring to press further."

Clark wants to argue, but words won't come to him right now. He brushes past it and goes right to the heart of the issue in the here and now. "Fine," he spits out. "But this was happening before you even knew Tim, how-"

"I'm a detective," Bruce interrupts. "Many people say one of the best detectives in the world, and yet I was unable to detect that he was being raped for years. Even if I didn't know him before it started happening, I should have picked up the clues that would have led me to the truth years ago. You're right, Clark. Neither me and Dick had the power to stop it, but we damn right had the power to end it and we did absolutely nothing." He's looking at Clark, his dark brown gaze piercing him, and Clark's arguments live on his tongue and die at his lips. With shaky legs, he walks over to the couch and sits down heavily, dragging a hand through his hair.

"We failed him," Clark whispers. "Somewhere along the way, one of us should have realized the problems in Tim's life and none of us did anything." He stares at his hands, secrets about Mr. Andrews and General Lane fighting to get out, but he refuses to let them. This is not the time for Clark to break down. He takes a deep breath, and he's grateful that Bruce ignores the sob. His hands are shaking. "Legally?"

"I've built a case against him, sent it to Commissioner Gordon. He should be arrested soon. I couldn't make it seem like Batman had a specific interest in the case, but I've made it clear that if this isn't resolved quickly, Bruce Wayne will certainly have things to say." Clark can hear the bitter smile in his voice. "Batman might have told him what's going on, and Bruce Wayne is about to make a distraught phone call to the police."

"Other victims?" Clark asks, knowing that the answer is yes, but desperately wishing it wasn't.

"I'm still looking into that, but I refused to have that man spend another day in that school. All the information in the case is Tim's. I didn't. . . . I didn't include you in it. Not yet, not until I know the other victims."

"You won't have to include me in the report." Clark sighs. "Out me, I mean. As soon as this goes public, and it will, I'll come forward. Testify." He bites his lip. "I just need time to tell my mother. That's all I ask."

"Of course," Bruce tells him. "Take all the time you need. And I'll . . . I'll prepare Tim for this going public as well."

Clark winces. He knows that won't be a good conversation, but he isn't sure if it's right for him to offer to do it instead. He looks away from his hands and towards the door, where he's going to need to talk to Tim. He sighs and stands up. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck," Bruce says.

Clark looks at him, as he starts to sit back down at his desk, eyes on something that Clark has a strong feeling is the file that's going to lead him to other victims. His brow is furrowed in concentration, and Clark knows that this is going to be Bruce's entire night.

He wishes him luck.

He walks out the door and towards Tim's room, listening for three heartbeats, smiling when he's greeted to Jon's laugh and Dick's calm voice. Tim's breathing seems steady, which is a good thing. Clark had been good about looking normal, at least in front of his parents. Neither Pete or Lana had picked up anything as well, at least he thinks. He's sure they would have said something.

But inside, he never felt okay. He always felt two minutes away from a panic attack. He couldn't believe that no one ever noticed how bad he was.

But you get good at things like that, and he knows that both him and Tim needed to get good at it.

He takes a deep breath when he gets to Tim's door, and then knocks.

"Come in," he hears Tim say, and with that permission, he enters.

Dick and Jon are on Tim's bed, Jon happily settling on Dick's lap while Tim plays peek-a-boo. He kicks his little legs as he laughs, and Clark's heart grows three sizes. Dick and Tim look up at him, and they look happy. "Hey," he says. "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay," Tim tells him, looking him in the eye. His own are sad, but there's something settled in him. "It's just hard. But you know."

Clark nods. He does. He truly does. He takes a deep breath. "Is it okay if we have a moment alone?"

Dick looks at Tim, who nods. He stands up, and looks down at Jon. Clark laughs. "It's okay. You can take him." Dick eagerly smiles as he takes Jon away, smiling at the happy baby who is clearly convinced that Dick is the greatest thing since sliced bread. Clark hangs onto the peace he feels as he watches them go before he turns to Tim.

"He's a sweet baby," the young omega says.

"He is," Clark says. "He's the greatest thing that ever happened to me." Tim nods before he falls down to the bed, looking up at Clark with half-lidded eyes. His heart is beating steadily. Clark takes a deep breath. "Tim, I need to tell you something."

Tim's heartbeat skips. "What is it, Clark? Did Andr- Did he have a disease? I made sure to get tested-"

It's a statement that breaks Clark's heart, but he's relieved that he can shake his head at Tim's question. "As far as I know, he doesn't. But-" God, he needs to say this, he just doesn't know how. "Tim, you know I have x-ray vision."

Tim nods, frowning in uncertainty. "Tim, I saw inside you at the school." Clark wants to cry, it's clear that Tim isn't connecting the pieces yet, and he doesn't want that moment to actually happen. It's going to be terrible when it does, and Clark knows that he just needs to rip off the band-aid. "Tim, you're pregnant."

Tim blinks at him for a moment, understanding not reaching him at the moment, and then slowly, it does. Tim's face slides down into devastation, and his eyes fill up with tears. A hand comes up to his stomach, and the other to his mouth. "No," he whispers. "No, I can't- I made sure to take birth control, I-" He shakes his head. "You're wrong. You're seeing things, I'm not- I can't-" Tim's words dissolve into sobs, and Clark knows what's happening right now. All the little moments that Tim brushed aside are coming together. All his random aches, his nausea, his sudden hatred for certain foods and sudden cravings for others, his heightened emotions, every symptom in the world that he brushed aside because it wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible.

But obviously, it wasn't impossible.

"Tim," Clark says firmly. "I want you to know that I will support you no matter what, and I think that you'll do the right thing for you. I won't mention this to Bruce or Dick, and I'll drive you to the clinic myself. Or I'll be there when you tell them. Anything you want or need, we'll do." Tim nods his head absentmindedly, and then starts shaking it in determination. 

"I can't think," he whispers, curling up into a small ball and onto his side. "I don't- I don't think-" He starts crying in earnest, tightening his arms around himself. "Clark, what's going to happen?" he forces, sobs jerking in his voice.

Without thinking, Clark lands a hand on Tim's back, and then pulls it back like it's on fire. He didn't even ask. . . . But Tim's voice interrupts his thoughts, a high, "Please don't leave me," filling the room and Clark's heart breaks. He lays down on the bed, and pulls Tim to him, kissing the top of his head. Tim just turns around and buries his head in Clark's chest. "I'm scared," is pulled out of him, a plain admission from a guarded boy, his hand curling into Clark's shirt as he continues to sob like his entire life's been destroyed. _Because_ his entire life has been destroyed. The only thing Clark can do is rub his back, and pray that Tim can rebuild his life.

He was thirty-one when he had to stare into the mirror and decide what he wanted to do with the baby inside him. Tim's sixteen, and Clark can't imagine. He tries to throw his mind back to being sixteen and scared and certain that his life had fallen down around him and finding out that he was pregnant, but he can't do it. His mind refuses to let him. It would have been too much.

He probably would have tried to kill himself. 

That thought makes him tighten his arms around Tim, swearing to himself that he'll do whatever he can to make sure that Tim is safe and that he's happy. At least as happy as he can be right now.

"Tim, I know you're not okay," he whispers. "But I will tell you that one day you will be."

The young omega shakes his head. "Bruce-"

"Will love you no matter what," because Clark saw Bruce with his son. He thinks that Tim hung the moon. Probably the sun and the stars as well. "And so will Dick. And they will support you no matter." He starts to scratch Tim's head, and begins a low purr, anything to hopefully calm him down. "You know I'm right, Tim."

Tim hiccups, but he nods into Clark's chest. "He won't throw me out. Right?"

How bad were the Drake's that Tim thinks that's likely to happen to him? Truly, how bad could they be?

"He would never throw you out. And on the infinitely small chance that he did, you would always have a place in my home." It doesn't matter how he'll do it, Clark will make sure that Tim has a safe place for himself, and if it's what he chooses, his baby.

"Cl-Clark?" Tim chokes out. "Can you tell them? I don't- I don't think I would be able to get it out. I'm so so-sorry."

"Of course," Clark whispers. "I'll tell them. Anything else?"

"I don't know what I'm going to do," Tim tells them. "But ca-can you stay with me until I'm asleep?"

"Yes," Clark says. "No matter how long it takes."

*

Clark can't leave Tim, even when Tim's cried himself to sleep. The tear-stains on his shirt keep him there, his mind drifting in all possibilities of what's going to happen and how hard this is going to be to overcome. If having a child, if that's what Tim chooses, can be overcome. If it should be something overcome.

Jesus H Christ, he's a writer. He should be able to think better, he just _can't._

But Bruce and Dick both make that decision for him.

A knock on Tim's door, and Clark's shaky "Come in" is all the permission they need.

Dick swears and Bruce strides in as they take in what happened, scanning both of their bodies so any injuries. Clark knows that they don't have the vision that he does, and Tim asked him to do this. He can't deny him this.

"I saw a fetus inside Tim," Clark forces out of his mouth. Bruce closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath, allowing this to be his only reaction, while Dick lets out a sob, slapping a hand over his mouth so that he doesn't wake up his little brother. "I told him. He wanted me to tell you. And he doesn't know what he wants to do."

Bruce looks at his son, and then he nods. "Alright. I will pull up information for clinics, adoption agencies, and doctors so he can make a choice." He turns on his heels to walk out the door, and Clark was so glad that Tim was asleep. He knows it shows how much Bruce would care, but Clark knows that Tim wouldn't take it that way. If Dick's glare at Bruce's back is any indication, then Tim wouldn't be the only one.

He turns back to Clark and Tim, sitting down on the bed, shoulders hunching in exhaustion. "How far along?"

Clark thinks for a minute. "I would say seven weeks. It's not a baby at this point. Just . . . just a collection of cells."

Dick nods. "What do you think he'll do?"

Clark bites his lip, and then shakes his head. "I think he just needs to take care of himself right now."

Dick sighs and nods. "Of course." He sniffs. "I just want him to feel okay, and he seemed okay, but-"

"This changes everything. He’s pregnant, Dick, and he’s pregnant by the man who raped him. That can be its own form of trauma, and not one that an abortion can easily take away."

Dick nods as his eyes narrow. "Clark, did you-?"

He shakes his head. "No. Andrews didn't get me pregnant." Dick doesn't notice the phrasing. He let's it go, and Clark is grateful.

"Jon?" he asks, wanting to change the subject as quickly as he can.

"Getting spoiled rotten by Alfred, who has decided that we're all eating mac n' cheese and chocolate milk because Master Jon has requested it."

Clark laughs. It feels really fucking good to laugh. He looks at Tim, sleeping in his arms.

"Dick, it's going to be more than a few days."

The young alpha smiles. "Yeah, Bruce already took care of that. You’re staying with us, Clark, and you won’t have to worry about a thing."

Clark doesn't know how true that is, but he refuses to leave Tim alone with this decision.

No matter what, he's going to have Clark.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm salazarastark on tumblr as well, so follow me [here](https://salazarastark.tumblr.com/)! I'm not as active as I'd like to be, but I'm always up for talking about my fics or anything else!


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